


Whatever You Call It, You Need One

by Anzieizna



Category: Original Work, Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Multi, Warrior Cats, apprentice ceremony, but yes cats, by the way this took WAY too long, no one from the books sorry, warriors queens elders leader apprentices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anzieizna/pseuds/Anzieizna
Summary: The first time he’d even seen the warriors’ den, Finchpelt had thought it was massive.The apprentices’ den had been small, cramped. The warriors’ den, by comparison, was heavenly. It looked larger than anything Finchpelt had ever seen, and he’d wondered how he was ever supposed to fill up moss beds that big.Now, a full-grown warrior, Finchpelt felt like the den had gotten ten times smaller.Or:I take a go at writing some good ol' cats.Title from the quote by Jane Howard - "Call it a clan. Call it a network. Call it a tribe. Call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one."
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Whatever You Call It, You Need One

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _Clan Allegiance:_   
> 
> 
> Leader –  
>  **Poppystar** \-- a black and white she-cat with bright green eyes.
> 
> Deputy –   
> **Aldernose** \-- a dark brown tabby she-cat with green eyes.
> 
> Medicine cat –  
>  **Lilyfall** \-- a solid silver-grey tabby she-cat with grey eyes.
> 
> Warriors -  
>  **Finchpelt** \-- a light tabby point tom with striking blue eyes.  
>  **Tinynight** \-- a solid black tom with bright yellow eyes.  
>  **Willowcloud** \-- a fluffy ragdoll she-cat with bright blue eyes. (Apprentice: **Yellowpaw** )  
>  **Foxclaw** \-- a bright ginger tabby with green eyes.  
>  **Lionwing** \-- a cream and faint-tabby tom with yellow eyes.  
>  **Whitebelly** \-- a black and white blind tom with cloudy green eyes. (Apprentice: **Snowpaw** )  
>  **Blackears** \-- a black and white tom with yellow eyes.  
>  **Brindlesky** \-- a calico she-cat with yellow eyes. (Apprentice: **Rabbitpaw)**
> 
> Apprentices -  
>  **Snowpaw** \-- a ragdoll she-cat with striking blue eyes.  
>  **Rabbitpaw** \-- a light brown tabby tom with green eyes.  
>  **Yellowpaw** \-- a bright orange tabby tom with blue eyes.
> 
> Queens -  
>  **Mottlefang** \-- a calico she-cat with yellow eyes. (Kits: **Birdkit, Waspkit, Minnowkit** )
> 
> Elders -  
>  **Ambertail** \-- a white and ginger she-cat with yellow eyes.  
>  **Oakfoot** \-- a light brown tabby tom with green eyes.  
>  **Ravenheart** \-- a black and dark brown she-cat with green eyes.
> 
> [ _For anyone unfamiliar with Warriors: this is based on a series of books in which cats exist in "clans" in the wild. Similar to a wolf pack, they have a leader and a deputy and cats learning to become warriors, as well as a cat to "heal" others, and as kittens grow up their name changes depending on what stage they're at (kittens' names end with -kit, apprentices' names end with -paw, warriors have their own names, and a leader's name ends with -star). There is a lot of lore mixed within this fic but I hope you'll be able to enjoy it anyway!_]

The first time he’d even seen the warriors’ den, Finchpelt had thought it was _massive_.

The apprentices’ den had been small, cramped, with that one hole in the wall that was _just_ at the right angle to send a bright stream of light directly at his face. He’d shared the den with a few other apprentices. Turned out these apprentices didn’t know that going to sleep actually meant going to sleep and not ‘messing around a _little_ bit quieter’.

The warriors’ den, by comparison, was heavenly.

Big, large moss beds that were _actually_ comfortable, instead of just looking it. There was no vague scent of mouse bile drifting into the den - instead only the delicious smell of the outside forest that made for the best dreams. It was quiet, too, with cats that knew they had to be quiet once the sun set.

Having only just graduated from an apprentice, the den looked larger than anything Finchpelt had ever seen, and he’d wondered how he was ever supposed to fill up moss beds _that_ big.

Now, a full-grown warrior, Finchpelt felt like the den had gotten ten times smaller.

Perhaps it was Finchpelt who’d grown, who’d hit a growth spurt so large that he grew twice his size and was somehow seeping _out_ of the grand beds.

Perhaps it was the cats around him, who became greedier with their space, everyone stretching further and further out until the distance between them grew smaller and smaller.

Or, perhaps, it was the massive lump of dishevelled cream-coloured fur, determined to ooze itself over Finchpelt’s body and steal his bed.

It was probably that.

Finchpelt yawned, doing his best to blink his eyes open. From the corner of his vision, he could see Lionwing, the aforementioned bed stealer, slowly trickle from his own bed into Finchpelt’s. Nobody really knew when the habit started, just that it did, and that Lionwing couldn’t get rid of it despite the number of complaints he got from literally _every_ cat in the den.

Well.

Almost every cat.

Finchpelt could lie to himself. He could say he didn’t complain because he was shy, because he didn’t want to be awkward, but he knew that wasn’t true. Yes, he talked less than other cats, was always more content to listen than contribute to a conversation, but if there was one thing he didn’t mind voicing, it was a complaint. Especially if was against something of the annoying variety. Especially if it was against something of the annoying _him_ variety.

So maybe he didn’t complain because he didn’t actually mind Lionwing cuddling up so soft, draping his fluffy tail over Finchpelt’s back, nuzzling into his chest. Maybe it felt nice. Maybe he _liked_ it.

Either way, the warriors were more than glad at the escape, and all but shoved Lionwing into the corner of the den, far, far away from everyone else, between the wall and Finchpelt.

Everyone slept better after that. Sure, Lionwing still made noises in his sleep, would sometimes move so much he _kicked_ Finchpelt away, but overall the amount of grumpy mornings decreased drastically.

Lionwing always claimed they should thank him for that. Like he did them a favour by _not_ being a nuisance.

As Finchpelt watched, Lionwing’s nose twitched in his sleep. He paused, then scrunched it up, shaking his head as if he’d smelled something terrible. The rest of his body followed, ebbing between slow and fast, twitching like the waves of a river. It was rather peaceful to watch.

Then, Finchpelt had to duck to avoid a stray paw flying at his face, and that was enough to ruin the calm atmosphere.

He shook his head, glancing about the den. A few other cats had started to get up, lifting their heads and blinking owlishly, but most were sleeping soundly. The lighting was dull, the sun still rising. It was early. Whilst Finchpelt didn’t necessarily have to get up right now, he knew exiting the den when everyone else was too created a chaos he did _not_ want to be caught up in.

He stood and shook his fur, taking a final, long gaze at Lionwing’s sleeping form, before doing his best not to step on any cats as he walked outside. The clan camp housed only one or two cats, and said cats were taking advantage of the rising sun by bathing in it. One of the warriors stood up and made to exit the camp, dipping his head to Finchpelt in greeting.

Finchpelt was really glad there was no small talk – for both him _and_ the other cat, because to be honest, Finchpelt wasn’t the best conversationalist straight after waking up. Or at all, really. So instead he settled himself in front of the warrior’s den, silently soaking up the sun, until a sleek, black body entered the camp.

Finchpelt watched as the cat padded closer with a mouse in his mouth, taking care as he put it down on the fresh-kill pile. He stretched, clearly far more awake than Finchpelt – not that that was difficult – as he looked around the camp. His ears perked up when he saw Finchpelt, making his way over and touching their noses together in greeting.

“Morning, Finchpelt.”

“Morning, Tinynight. Early start?”

The black tom nodded, radiating the kind of satisfaction that always came with a well-earned catch. “Lionwing was snoring again. You should try muffling him in his sleep.”

“I already have,” Finchpelt joked. “Guess I’m not strong enough.” Tinynight nodded sleepily. He looked tired. Finchpelt asked, “good hunt?”

“The rain must have brought them out. I would have caught a blackbird, too, if I hadn’t stepped on a branch.”

Finchpelt sucked air through his teeth, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m sure we can hunt together later today. Besides, the extra prey will be good – what with the new apprentice we’ll be getting today.”

At the mention, Tinynight’s ears flicked. If you didn’t know him well, the tom would probably look like he wasn’t affected at all. He didn’t move drastically, didn’t tense up, didn’t widen his eyes or anything like that. Finchpelt, however, had grown up with Tinynight. He knew _all_ of his subtle signs.

That ear flick? It meant Tinynight was trying to act like he wasn’t interested, but he _so_ was.

For a brief second, his eyes dotted towards the nursery. Finchpelt followed his gaze, unable to keep the faint smile away when he saw Yellowkit, the clan’s eldest kit, bouncing around the den with the excitement of an entire patrol.

Yellowkit was finally six moons old today, and it was clear he was telling his father all about it. His mother must have still been in the nursery, sleeping, but Oakfoot was outside the den, nodding along empathetically to everything Yellowkit was saying as if it would save the world.

It was a nice scene to watch. The big, muscled, brown tabby that was Oakfoot, a fierce warrior who had fought countless battles for the clan and retired to the elder’s den after a fight left him worse-for-wear – _this_ tabby, big and broad, listening very seriously to his as-orange-as-the-sunset kit radiate with excitement.

It was tradition for the leader not to reveal who the mentor was going to be, not to anyone apart from themselves and their deputy. It was meant to radiate excitement and mystery, make the kit be ready for _any_ type of mentor, strict or kind – what it _actually_ did was encourage gossip.

And today’s gossip was saying that Tinynight would be Yellowkit’s apprentice.

When Tinynight had first heard it, he’d laughed. Blinked a bit first, confused, and then laughed. But as the days passed, Finchpelt could tell the idea grew on him. He made an effort to always say hello to Yellowkit whenever he visited the nursery, and watched the current apprentices’ training more closely, but he never admitted it.

Whenever Finchpelt would even _hint_ at it, he would quickly change the subject, citing that it clearly wasn’t true, or that it didn’t matter, or that he didn’t care.

Finchpelt knew him too well to believe that.

“Hey,” he said, nudging the tom’s chin until he looked up. “Poppystar’s a fool if she doesn’t pick you to be mentor, you know that, right?”

“And that matters to me why?”

“Don’t be like that,” Finchpelt chided. “You can admit it – you’re excited. It’s okay,” he whispered, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Tinynight glared. “You’re not funny.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“A _correct_ matter of opinion. And I don’t care whether I become a mentor, really, it’s not a big deal.”

“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t make it any truer.”

“Maybe you should go back to sleep before I bite your nose off.”

Finchpelt went cross-eyed as he tried to look at his nose. “What’s wrong with my nose?”

“Nothing,” Tinynight rolled his eyes. “That’s my way of telling you that we can stop talking about this now.”

“But I don’t _want_ to stop,” Finchpelt whined.

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t think you’re going to be mentor! And I honestly don’t see why not. You’re a great hunter, super loyal, a little grumpy, sure—” he ignored Tinynight’s glare because it was _true_ , “—but you always volunteer to help out with patrols or hunting parties. Even now, you went and caught for the clan before everyone was awake.”

Tinynight’s scowl had doubled, but his ears were twitching rapidly, and Finchpelt could feet heat radiating from his fur. “If I tell you I’m anxious, will you stop talking?”

Finchpelt went to say ‘yes’ but froze, narrowing his eyes before slowly nodding.

The black tom sent him an amused look, and then sighed. “Fine. I’m anxious. Now let’s move on.”

“That’s so not fair!” Finchpelt cried out. “That is not what we agreed on.”

“Actually, we did. I carried out my part of the bargain. You’re still talking, though.”

“Because you betrayed me!”

“Finchpelt, has anyone ever told you you’re very dramatic?”

“I have.”

Finchpelt jumped, startled, before he recognised the voice and relaxed. He looked over his shoulder, glaring at the satisfied expression on Lionwing’s face as he walked out of nursery.

“How can you snore so loud when you’re asleep, and yet creep up on me like that all the time?”

Lionwing raised a brow. “Jealous?” he asked, settling down beside him. “I can teach you, if you want.”

“Like I’m taking any lessons from _you_.”

Lionwing shrugged, conceding, then tipped his chin. “What were you talking about?”

“Yellowkit’s mentor. Hey,” he said, an idea lighting up his eyes. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Tinynight quickly wince, as if gearing up for some kind of disaster – _rude, Tinynight, rude_ – that was about to happen. Finchpelt turned to Lionwing, grinning. “Your sister’s the deputy. Why don’t you tell us who the mentor is?”

Behind him, a groan. Lionwing’s whiskers twitched. “You know Aldernose isn’t allowed to tell me, right?”

“I’m sure if you asked her _really_ nicely, she would. You should try it out.”

“Please stop talking,” Tinynight whined. “Just leave it alone, will you?”

Any other day, Finchpelt would have pushed some more. He would have kept asking, kept joking, but he could see Tinynight start to get truly annoyed. So instead he hummed, letting out a heavy sigh for show, and pressed his nose behind Tinynight’s ear for comfort. The tom purred his thanks, and when Finchpelt leaned back, he found Lionwing had moved in even closer, pushing their shoulders together.

He flushed, avoiding Tinynight’s pointed look.

For a while, the trio sat quietly. Occasionally they talked, but it was still early in the morning and even Finchpelt’s eyes were drooping. More and more cats began to step into the outside world, and eventually the clan’s deputy joined them.

Aldernose stretched as she exited the warriors’ den, her dark brown coat shining in the early sun. The tabby padded forward, shaking herself awake before tapping Lionwigns’ nose with her own.

“Have you been awake for long?”

Lionwing shook his head. “I only woke up a few minutes ago, but these two were already out there.”

Aldernose looked to the pair. She must have smelled the prey on Tinynight’s coat, because she sent him a thankful look. “Thank you, Tinynight. I won’t send you out on patrol, not after you’ve already hunted – you can help wake up the apprentices, and when you’re done, the elders were complaining about holes in their den wall.”

Finchpelt didn’t bother to hide his smirk at that – Tinynight _hated_ being on repair duty, always complaining about getting twigs and leaves tangled in his fur, but he was never one to speak back to the deputy. As if reading his thoughts, Tinynight sent Finchpelt a glare, before nodding to Aldernose and making his way to the apprentices’ den.

“And you? Have you been out yet?” Aldernose asked.

Finchpelt shook his head. “I haven’t been awake for long.” He felt the urge to apologise – the she-cat always managed to intimidate him – but resisted it, instead making an effort to not shuffle his paws as he sat in place.

“We’ll go out together,” Lionwing said, grinning crookedly. “You can show me that one hunting trick you promised to teach me, and still _haven’t_.”

Aldernose rolled her eyes before Finchpelt could respond. “The last thing I want to do is send the two of you out alone.”

Lionwing frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The tabby ignored him, instead scanning the rest of the camp. Suddenly she stopped someone who was passing by, dragging them in with her tail. “Willowcloud! I want you to join Lionwing and Finchpelt on patrol.”

The cat Aldernose had dragged in looked mildly terrified. Willowcloud was a relatively new warrior – she’d graduated a few moons ago, her sly hunting skills quickly making the senior warriors grow more and more fond of her. Finchpelt didn’t know her too well, but he definitely shared her nervousness around the more experienced cats and would usually push Lionwing or Tinynight to take the spotlight off her. She’d sent more than one appreciative smile his way. Even right now, the ragdoll was sending Finchpelt those oh-great-StarClan-help-me looks again.

Lionwing squawked when Finchpelt stepped on his paw, sending him a ruffled look, but nodded and said, “Come on, Aldernose, let Willowcloud breathe, at least.”

Aldernose sent him an unamused look but stepped away from Willowcloud. “You’ll patrol the southern and western borders. Don’t take too long, we don’t need any more spats with the other clans.”

“I’m a delight.” Lionwing sent his sister an offended look. “ _I_ won’t be causing any spats – and yes, I could tell that was aimed at me, don’t bother to lie about it.”

Aldernose narrowed her eyes playfully. “Fine, I won’t, then. Finchpelt, keep an eye on him, hmm? I wouldn’t trust him to find his own tail if I showed it to him.”

“Of course,” Finchpelt nodded, grinning as Lionwing complained about betrayal. “We’ll be back soon.”

The deputy dipped her head, turning around to organise more patrols. Finchpelt, Willowcloud, and Lionwing set off for the camp entrance, the former two constantly having to slow down to wait for Lionwing. They’d chastise him, remind him of Aldernose’s order to be quick, but the golden tom would just smirk and say it was his life-long goal to annoy his sister.

The forest where their clan was housed was brimming with life. The prey knew well by now, purposefully keeping out of sight the moment they smelled any cats, but every once in a while, a small squirrel would rush up the side of a tree, or a vole would scutter along the ground as quick as it could. It was a good reminder to hunt the prey while they could – before Leaf-fall set in and the leaves started growing brown and falling off trees.

The clan did well in Greenleaf, always, but as soon as Leaf-bare hit it was like all the animals burrowed deep into the ground, well away from the cats, waiting their time until the sun started to shine again moons later. The snow made nights cold, too, which always brought the warriors in their den closer together whilst asleep.

Finchpelt flushed as he remembered the last leaf-bare – Lionwing sprawling entirely over his bed, not even being the slightest bit considerate, and huddling close to Finchpelt’s chest. Tinynight hadn’t let him forget it for a full _moon_. It had been horrible.

Now, however, Lionwing was wide awake, congratulating Willowcloud after she’d caught a blackbird.

“Mmmh, a blackbird. Those are good. I always get hungry after patrols.”

Finchpelt huffed lightly, trotting passed as he scented the air. “We’re supposed to be focusing on the borders.”

“Do you smell any cats?”

“No.”

“Then let me think about food, Finchpelt.”

Willowcloud’s whiskers twitched. “I don’t mind sharing with you, Lionwing. But only once we return to camp, of course. Food always goes to the queens and elders first.”

Lionwing nodded, sending the bird a last, forlorn look, before following Finchpelt’s lead and focusing his nose at the sky. The group made their way slowly but steadily, relatively quiet until they began to make their way back.

“So, Willowcloud,” said Lionwing, because he was never one for silence. “Are you excited to see Yellowkit become an apprentice?”

The she-cat’s face lit up before she scrunched her nose. “Is it… kind of… embarrassing to say _yes_?”

“Why would it be embarrassing?”

“It’s just – all the warriors seem to _calm_ and _collected_ all the time.” Willowcloud huffed loudly, her paws fidgeting as she rolled her head as if she’d been waiting to say this the whole time. “I’m nowhere near that! Even when I wake up, my fur is always in a mess, and yet everyone else seems so perfectly put together.” She shrugged. “It sort of seemed immature to be excited about something so small.”

“Small?” Lionwing asked. “StarClan, no, this isn’t small! Ceremonies are a big thing in any clan. I don’t know a _single_ cat who doesn’t count down the days to the next ceremony, warrior _or_ apprentice.”

Finchpelt nodded. “Lionwing’s right.” He hesitated before walking forward, bumping his and Willowcloud’s shoulders together. The she-cat smiled at him and he tentatively returned it. “Even Aldernose gets excited for these ceremonies. It’s really not something you should be embarrassed about.”

“And warriors being calm and collected all the time? You couldn’t be more wrong, Willowcloud.” Lionwing let out a warm laugh. “Every morning, I wake up with moss all over my nose, and I’ve seen Finchpelt trip over his fair-share of paws just after he’s woken up.”

Finchpelt glared. “Thanks, Lionwing.”

“Of course! And a few days ago, I saw Foxclaw, the medicine cat’s _brother_ , get scared by his own tail. It was hilarious.”

“Didn’t he threaten to poison your next meal if you told anyone?” Finchpelt reminded him.

The tom shrugged. “Foxclaw doesn’t intimidate me. He jumped at his own tail, for StarClan’s sake. Besides, Lilyfall wouldn’t let him anywhere near any deathberries.”

“Maybe if you annoyed her enough.”

“Are you hinting at something here?”

“Me? Never!” Finchpelt grinned.

Lionwing remained unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes. “I’m watching you, _kit_. Don’t think you can trick me.”

“Lionwing, I wouldn’t dare.”

He _hmphed_ , raising his head high. Behind them, Willowcloud was trying to muffle her laughter, but it wasn’t working too well. She avoided Lionwing’s offended glare, instead making her way closer to Finchpelt’s side.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said, “for telling me that. It makes me feel much better. I’m not particularly close to anyone other than my sister, so it’s good to know I have other cats who think the same as me. And my sister’s still an apprentice, anyway, so it’s not like we hang out much.”

“How is Snowpaw?” Finchpelt wondered. “Is her training going well?”

Willowcloud nodded. “I was nervous, at first. That the fact that she was born with three legs instead of four would set her back, but Whitebelly has been a great mentor. She comes to me often with a new story, a new hunting technique she learned, and her balance has gotten a lot better. She’s a lot happier.”

When Snowpaw was born with a missing leg, nobody really had an explanation. Even Lilyfall had been dumbfounded, and the clan had been worried it would cause an early death for the kit. Snowpaw survived, however, and graduated to an apprentice short before her and Willowcloud’s mother died.

Poppystar had chosen Whitebelly to mentor the she-kit. It made sense – Whitebelly was blind, and Snowpaw was missing a leg, so if there was anyone that would understand Snowpaw when she was struggling, it was Whitebelly. The two were, understandably, close, and it looked like Snowpaw was shaping up to be a terrific warrior under her mentor’s influence.

“I’m sure she’s excited about Yellowkit joining the apprentices’ den,” Lionwing commented. “This clan needs more apprentices, anyway.”

Willowcloud smiled. “She’s been talking my ear off about it for the past however many days. I think she’s tired of having to share all the apprentice duties with only Rabbitpaw.”

“You think she’ll just dump all the work on Yellowkit as soon as possible?”

“If she can get away with it,” Willowcloud said, laughing.

They returned to the camp in high spirits, several cats congratulating Willowcloud on her catch. She was pulled away by her sister not soon after, sending them a harried look and a yell of _‘thank you!’_ as she was dragged across the camp. Lionwing and Finchpelt watched with twitching whiskers, the toms sharing a quick goodbye before Lionwing wandered off to talk to his sister.

Finchpelt found Tinynight sorting a pile of sticks by length near the elder’s den, scowling as one poked his paw.

“Ow!” He cried, gritting his teeth. “Stupid elders.”

“What was that?” a croaky voice from inside called. “Tinynight, are you cursing again?”

“No, Ambertail, I’m not!” Tinynight called back, and then jumped when he saw Finchpelt from the corner of his eye. “Great StarClan, Finchpelt, walk _louder_.”

“You’re grouchy,” Finchpelt said, grinning. “What’s wrong? Trouble in paradise?”

Tinynight glared at him. “Help me with this den and I _won’t_ feed you to Ambertail.”

“I don’t think the elders eat cats, Tinynight.”

“Ambertail does,” Tinynight assured him. “She’s evil. It’s like she thinks because she’s Poppystar’s mother, she can order _any_ cat around.”

Finchpelt grimaced in sympathy. Out of all the elders, Ambertail was definitely the pickiest, always scolding apprentices for folding the moss _that_ way instead of _this_ way, complaining that the prey wasn’t juicy enough, and get her _another_ one, what a lazy apprentice!

Finchpelt was practically stolen for the next hour, helping Tinynight replenish the crumbling wall of the elder’s den. When they were done, Tinynight didn’t even stick around to hear Ambertail admit they didn’t do _such_ a bad job – instead, he just walked to the other side of the camp and refused to come back. Even when Ambertail called after him. Ambertail was _really_ loud.

They spent the next however long lounging in the sun, grooming each other and sharing a piece from the fresh-kill pile. Tinynight didn’t stop grouching about Ambertail, only lowering his voice a _bit_ whenever another cat walked by.

They were deep in conversation when a yowl from across camp caught their attention. They looked up, exchanging an amused glance when they saw the source.

It was Yellowkit, the kitten yelling up a racket as he tried and tried to get away from the grasp of his mother’s paws. His fur was ruffled and wet, thrown at all sides, painting a very clear picture of a kit who did _not_ want to be groomed.

His mother was unimpressed. Ravenheart continued to groom him, ignoring the pulls and twists as he tried to get away. She sighed heavily at his third whine, looking to the sky as if asking what she’d done wrong to be settled with this kit. She didn’t let go, though, only redoubled her efforts, lecturing Yellowkit on looking _nice_ and _proper_ for his ceremony.

Behind her, Oakfoot looked like he was trying to appease his son into staying still but based on the little frown of frustration on his face, it probably wasn’t working.

Ravenheart had been brought out of retirement when she’d been pregnant with Yellowkit. She and Oakfoot had retired together – earlier than usual, perhaps, but the battle that’d sent them there was rather serious, and to this day the medicine cat told Oakfoot he should be glad he wasn’t blind. The clan had accepted the move easily, agreeing with the notion that the clan had more than enough warriors left without them.

If he was her, Finchpelt imagined he’d be glad to return to the elder’s den now. He loved kits, truly, but they could be _loud_ , and they moved all the time, constantly and quickly, and Finchpelt couldn’t imagine keeping all of that under control.

Ravenheart seemed to be doing a good job, though. It wasn’t a surprise – she was one of the most clear-headed cats in the clan, and even if Yellowkit hadn’t been her second litter Finchpelt thought she’d be just as good a mother. She didn’t seem to be bothered by the clinginess, or the chewing, or all the weird smells that clung to the walls of the nursery.

Even now, as Yellowkit hissed at another swipe of Ravenheart’s tongue, the black cat’s eyes were filled with nothing but love as she stared at her son. She and Oakfoot kept exchanging amused glances, laughing at him behind his back, nodding seriously whenever he turned back to talk to them.

Finchpelt watched for a few moments and then side-eyed his friend. “That’s going to be a difficult apprentice to train,” he said slyly. “Lucky for us you’re so capable, then.”

The tom sent him a look, sighing. “Finchpelt.”

“I know you care. You might think you’re being subtle, but you’re fooling me.”

He flicked an ear. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal! It’s an apprentice! It’s the biggest deal a cat could get, Tinynight. It wouldn’t hurt you to get excited about becoming a mentor.”

“There’s no guarantee,” Tinynight said. He interrupted when Finchpelt opened his mouth. “And no, clan gossip is not evidence. If you get all my hopes up and it doesn’t happen, it’ll be worse.”

“Aha!” Finchpelt leaped back, grinning. “So you _are_ excited!”

Tinynight paused for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Okay, yes, I am. I am excited. But even if Poppystar doesn’t pick me, it won’t… ruin my life,” he said after a moment. He looked into the distance, deep in thought, humming low. “I trust Poppystar. She’s been a fair cat since I was born, and I trust she’ll pick the right mentor for Yellowkit. And if that mentor isn’t me.” He shrugged. “Then I’m sure she has a reason for it.”

Finchpelt groaned. “But don’t you want to be a mentor?”

“Of course I do,” Tinynight scowled. “Everyone does. I know you do, too, even if you’d be totally incompetent—”

“Hey!”

“But Poppystar will give me an apprentice when she thinks I’m ready. I don’t mind waiting a few more months for any other kits to grow up.”

Usually, Tinynight was good at pulling off lies. He could hide his feelings, tell you something completely different to what he was actually thinking, and leave you with no suspicions. Finchpelt liked to think, after spending their entire lives together, that he could see past that and detect any lies.

He narrowed his eyes, but if Tinynight was _truly_ bothered, he was hiding it exceptionally well.

So Finchpelt nodded, resisting the urge to whine some more, and said, “well, I think you’ll be a great mentor no matter what cat you teach. I bet Yellowkit is going to be disappointed if it isn’t you.”

Tinynight looked up, face thoughtful, before a smile took over his face. Small, but genuine. “Thank you, Finchpelt. You’re a good friend.”

The tom grinned back. “Of course I am. What else did you expect?”

“You ruined the moment.” Tinynight stood and stretched. He licked his jaws, looking at the prey at Finchpelt’s feet. “Are you finished with that? I was thinking of going to see my sister in the nursery today.”

“I’m not so sure Mottlefang’ll appreciate the company,” Finchpelt quipped, already anticipating the queen’s spiky personality. But the thought of getting to see her cute kits was apparently too much to resist, and he quickly chewed his food before joining Tinynight in his walk to the nursery.

The nursery – its dim light, its sweet scent – instantly brought back memories. Finchpelt recalled the vague smell of warm milk, a purr that always comforted him, the name ‘ _Finchkit’_ said fondly after he caused some kind of mishap. The memory was bittersweet, a peaceful time before his mother died and he was taken in by another queen, one who wasn’t as kind and who was only polite, not _loving_.

For one moment, Finchpelt imagined his life if his parents were alive – if his father hadn’t died before he was born, if sickness hadn’t taken his mother. Would he be as close as Ravenheart and Owlfur were to Yellowkit? Would he have siblings to play with, or be a lone kit as he was now?

Then a mew sounded from further inside, and Finchpelt was reminded of where he was.

The nursery, visiting Tinynight’s sister, Mottlefang, with her three adorable kits.

A family if he’d ever known one.

Finchpelt looked from the walls to the rest of the den. Only one moss bed was occupied, centred in the middle of the den, and filled by a worringly thin calico.

Normally, Mottlefang was a very beautiful cat. Perhaps it was a weird thought to have, considering Finchpelt practically considered her a sister, but it was true – her usual coat was short and neat, the colourful pelt shining brightly in the sun, and she had deep yellow eyes that were always sharp with playful intent.

Mottlefang had been nothing but delighted at her pregnancy, and everything seemed perfectly fine until she gave birth. Then she stopped eating. It was normal, Lilyfall said, for queens not to eat for a full day after birth. But that day turned into two, into three, and after that Lilyfall had to manually force Mottlefang to eat.

The she-cat always brushed it off – she and Tinynight were similar that way -, stating it was nothing, they were overreacting, she was sure it was normal. But she was always tired, her bones sharp, her temper short. Finchpelt was worried if this continued, he’d soon be able to see her ribcage through her belly.

As they entered, Mottlefang barely looked up. She blinked one eye open, peeked blearily at them, and sighed, “oh, more _toms_. Great.”

Just because her health was dimmed didn’t mean her personality was too. Definitely not.

Finchpelt spluttered, sharing a look with Tinynight. “We haven’t even done anything. How could we have annoyed you already?”

Mottlefang didn’t respond. Instead, she lazily waved her tail to point to the corner of the den and closed her eyes once more.

On the other side of the nursery, where Mottlefang had pointed, were three kittens caught up in their own world.

There was a black cloud towered directly on top of an orange and a grey one. They were all faint tabbies, their paws too big for their bodies and their tails swishing side to side as if trying to stir the wind. Finchpelt watched on for a few moments, silently laughing, when the black kitten suddenly looked up.

“Tinynight!” Birdkit cried. “Finchpelt!” She toppled over her brothers, ignoring their cries as she soared towards the two warriors. “Tinynight, Finchpelt, you’re visiting us!”

Tinynight nodded, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, we are. And what exactly were you doing before you saw us?”

“Hmm?” Birdkit glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, that. Mottlefang said I could, to punish Minnowkit and Waspkit.”

Finchpelt blinked.

“That’s _not_ what she said,” the ginger kitten sprung forward, frowning at his sister.

Birdkit adamantly nodded her head. “Yes, it is, Waspkit. Remember, before Mottlefang went to sleep, she yelled at you and said I could do whatever I want.”

“I don’t think she meant _jumping_ on us,” Waspkit grumbled. “Aren’t I right, Minnowkit?”

The two turned to the third kitten, a light grey tom, who jumped at the attention. He glanced at the warriors, then back to his sister. “I agree with Waspkit,” he admitted. “You’re kind of heavy, Birdkit.”

Birdkit gasped. “ _Mooooooottlefang,_ Minnowkit just said I’m heavy!” She ran over to her mother, pushing her shoulder with her head.

Mottlefang flailed a paw, cursing her lack of sleep under her breath, and lifted her head. “Why are you three being loud again?”

“Minnowkit was being mean to me.”

“Minnowkit, apologise to your sister.”

“Sorry, Birdkit.”

“It’s okay, Minnowkit. You’re my favourite brother now.”

“ _Mooooooooooooottlefang_ , Birdkit just said she doesn’t like me!” Waspkit cried.

Mottlefang sighed and looked to the ceiling of the den. “StarClan, why are you torturing me like this?” She glared at her brother. “That’s why I’m done with toms right now.”

“But why _toms_?” Finchpelt asked, then realised that he just implied Birdkit was as annoying as her siblings. He really hoped the she-kit didn’t catch that.

Mottlefang yawned and lowered her head again. “Waspkit, why don’t you tell your uncle and Finchpelt that fun little game you boys played this morning, hmm?”

At the mention of the ‘game’, Waspkit’s eyes went wide. He hunched his shoulders, pressing his ears to his head and smiling sheepishly. “Oh… I don’t think they really think that they want to hear this story…”

“I’ll tell it!” Birdkit announced proudly.

Waspkit narrowed his eyes, and for a second Finchpelt thought he would try and bite her head off. Minnowkit managed to intervene, however, pushing himself between the two.

“I’m good at telling stories,” Birdkit said. “So I’ll tell it.” She sat down delicately, licking a paw and bringing it over her head as if she were getting ready for a very important meeting. “So, basically, what happened was—”

“Your voice is annoying.”

“Your face is annoying!” Birdkit yelled back, then frowned. “Hey, that’s mean! _Mooooooottlefang,_ Waspkit just–!”

“Nope.” Mottlefang didn’t even raise her head from the bed to say it. “Sort this out on your own, I’m tired.”

Birdkit rolled her eyes but settled back down. “So. Basically.” She glared at her brothers, but this time they didn’t interrupt. “An apprentice came in to drop some prey off for Mottlefang, and when Mottlefang was full, she left the rest on the ground. Then, these two bird-brains—”

“Don’t call your brothers bird-brains,” Mottlefang said sleepily.

“—sorry, Mottlefang. Anyway, these two bird-brains decided that playing with fresh-kill was _so much_ better than playing with moss balls, and so started throwing the mouse around.”

“I just want to say,” Waspkit pointed out, “that this was an accident. And Minnowkit’s idea.”

“Hey!” Minnowkit cried. “Don’t blame me, I didn’t do anything.”

“It was totally your idea!”

“You can’t blame me, that’s bullying. _Mooooooooottlefang—”_

“What part of sleep do you children not understand?!”

Minnowkit winced, then crawled forward. He curled up close to his mother, licking her cheek, and Mottlefang gave him a long look before giving up and curling him against her stomach. The two looked very cosy, Finchpelt thought.

“Anyway,” Birdkit continued, “they started throwing the mouse around, and around, and around, and then _bam_ – it hit Mottlefang right in the face!”

Finchpelt winced. _Ouch_.

“It was pretty bad,” Waspkit conceded. “Mottlefang made us clean up the whole den.”

“Even stuff that wasn’t _our_ fault,” Birdkit added. “But she said we weren’t allowed to complain.”

“You hit me in the face with a dead mouse,” Mottlefang deadpanned. She opened one eye, and that was enough to convey the strength of her glare. “So no, you’re not allowed to complain.”

“Well, _I_ didn’t actually do anything.” Birdkit nodded to herself. “So I don’t get why I’m being blamed.”

“Because you’re lying,” Minnowkit suggested.

“What? I’m not lying!”

“You so are! _You_ were the one who told me to play with the mouse.”

“Aha, so you _do_ admit you came up with the idea!”

Minnowkit jumped away from Mottlefang, running up to his siblings. “I’m talking to Birdkit now, Waspkit. This is between me and her.”

Waspkit grinned. “Oh, you should bite her!”

Birdkit narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even try.”

Apparently, Minnowkit found the challenge enticing, because the next thing Finchpelt knew, he was watching as the grey kitten launched himself at his sister. Waspkit also joined in, for no apparent reason, but Finchpelt guessed that just came with being a kitten.

The three started playing again, pushing Finchpelt and Tinynight to the corner of the den. Finchpelt was about to suggest they leave – so that Mottlefang could have some space to breathe, _not_ because he was scared of getting attacked by one of the kits – when a blur of grey entered the nursery.

Mottlefang looked up, letting out a gusty sigh, before saying, “back so soon, Lilyfall? Is there something you want to tell me?”

Quickly, the kits stopped. They sat straight, watching the medicine cat with wide eyes as she made her way closer to their mother.

Lilyfall’s whiskers twitched at Mottlefang’s comment, and she lay down a pile of herbs before responding, “No ulterior motives, I assure you. Just checking on my favourite queen today.”

“I’m the _only_ queen in the clan.”

Lilyfall didn’t respond, instead blinking as she noticed the other cats in the den. “Oh! Morning, Tinynight, Finchpelt. And, of course, good morning, kits.” Her voice turned as smooth as honey as she addressed them.

“Morning, Lilyfall!” Birdkit and Waspkit said, falling over themselves as they rushed forward. Behind them, Minnowkit rolled his eyes and turned to grooming his coat.

“Are you here to give Mottlefang her herbs?” Waspkit asked.

Lilyfall levelled a half-exasperated, half-fond look at the calcio. “If she’ll actually _take_ them.”

“They taste horrible,” Mottlefang hissed. She picked her head up from the moss, apparently deciding that she needed to make the effort to glare at Lilyfall properly. “Disgusting. Worse than the time I got mouse bile into my mouth as an apprentice, and that was _horrible_.” She shivered at the memory. “I swear, you’re trying to poison me, Lilyfall.”

The grey she-cat rolled her eyes, tearing several leaves in half and mixing them up in a complicated arrangement that made Finchpelt really glad he’d decided to become a warrior. “Mottlefang, in all of my years as a medicine cat, I have never come across a more difficult patient.” Despite the harsh words, her voice was far too happy, and she sent the she-cat a dazzling smile.

Mottlefang rolled her eyes. “That’s because I’m fine.”

“You’re most certainly not fine.” Lilyfall stepped back, frowning seriously for a moment. “If I wasn’t here to force you into eating, you’d have starved long ago.”

“It’s nowhere near that bad. You’re just being dramatic.”

“Mottlefang, I am here to help you, but I can’t do that if you refuse to take your herbs.”

“You’ve not been taking your herbs?”

The two she-cats jumped, as if they’d been caught up in their own world, and snapped their heads to Tinynight. Tinynight was frowning, his jaw clenched, and Finchpelt could see the tips of his claws pushing into the ground. He tried to comfort him by pressing closer, but the tom wasn’t distracted, instead just staring at his sister intently.

Mottlefang sighed. “Now there’s two of them. Get off my tail, will you?”

“Why would I when you haven’t been _taking your herbs_?!”

“Finchy, help me out.” Mottlefang swiped a paw into Finchpelt’s direction. “They’re overreacting, right?”

Everyone’s gaze snapped to him. Finchpelt’s shoulders hunched, and he hesitated before quietly saying, “… when was the last time you ate, Mottlefang?”

The she-cat scowled. “Does everybody here think I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”

It wasn’t even a question. A second ago, Mottlefang’s voice had been tired but kind, sweetened with the type of warmth that told of how much she loved the cats around her. Now, it was as cold as stone. Her eyes were dark, her frown heavy, and the tips of her fur were beginning to stand on end.

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Lilyfall said soothingly. “We’re just concerned about you not eating. We’re only trying to help you, Mottlefang.”

“Yeah, well you can help by leaving,” the queen hissed.

Tinynight let out a bitter laugh. “The last thing I’m going to do is leave. Can’t you see how sick you are?! You need to listen to Lilyfall, she knows how to fix you!”

“Oh, so I’m _broken_ now?!”

Suddenly, Lilyfall stepped forward. “Finchpelt,” she said, her voice chilled and smooth. “Why don’t you take the kits outside?”

Immediately, all the cats cowed. Tinynight blinked quickly, his gaze rushing to the trio of kittens huddled up in the corner of the den, bunched up close together and to the ground. Mottlefang cooed. She called them up to herself, encouraging them when they hesitated, and licked each kit on its head.

“Go with Finchpelt,” she said. “Your uncle and I’ll sort this out ourselves.”

The kits glanced between the adults, slow to respond, until Birdkit bumped her head to her mother’s chest. Her brothers followed, quickly making their way to Finchpelt’s side with their heads down. Mottlefang nodded to Finchpelt, and as soon as she looked back to Tinynight it was like a fire was relit in her eyes.

Finchpelt wasn’t sure if he was _actually_ supposed to leave. Wouldn’t it be better to stay with Tinynight, support him? But it was clearly a personal fight, one that had been building up for a while, and Finchpelt had no place in it. For a moment he wondered why Lilyfall was allowed to stay when he wasn’t, but he was soon pulled from his thoughts by the kits pointing him towards the den entrance.

Finchpelt walked out of the nursery, the kits close to his side. Behind him, he could feel the tension thicken as he left, and corralled the kittens away from the entrance. They settled close by, far away enough to keep Birdkit and Waspkit from wandering under any cat’s paws. But it was clear they were still shaken up – instead of walking off, like they normally would, the three stayed glued to him, quiet and small, flickering their eyes to the nursery every few seconds.

Finchpelt wasn’t quite sure what to do. It was clear they needed a distraction, but he didn’t know how to do that. Their mother was sick, seriously ill – it wouldn’t be easy to take that off their mind, even if Finchpelt _did_ think of something.

He sat there, turning thoughts over in his head, whilst the kits looked to each other constantly.

“Hey,” Finchpelt said, gently poking a paw at them. “Don’t be so worried.”

“The sicker Mottlefang is, the more they fight,” Birdkit moaned.

Minnowkit lip wavered, and he lowered his ears. “What if Tinynight doesn’t want to hang out with us because of that?” he mumbled. “I don’t want Tinynight to leave…”

“What – no!” Finchpelt cried, because uh-oh, it almost looked like Minnowkit was about to cry and he could _not_ handle that. “Look, Tinynight loves you. He adores you, okay? He wouldn’t stop visiting you even if Mottlefang barred him. Besides, this isn’t their first time, and this definitely won’t be their last.” He rolled his eyes. “You should have seen him when Mottlefang came back from fighting that fox.”

Three identical gasps came from beside him and he looked down with wide eyes.

Waspkit didn’t give him time to think anything through – he just leaped forward, narrowly avoiding hitting Finchpelt in the jaw as he pushed up to meet his eyes. “She _what_?! You have to tell us the story!”

“Yeah,” Birdkit cried, joining her brother. “Tell us, tell us, tell us!”

Even Minnowkit looked excited, coming forward to sit in front of Finchpelt politely, but his body was wriggling like he couldn’t fully contain his excitement. They all stared at the warrior like he was about to deliver some great prophecy, and Finchpelt swallowed.

It was rather unnerving, the way they didn’t even blink. If it was up to Finchpelt, he’d make up some excuse and run away to the cosy safety of his moss bed, but if there was anything to distract the kits from the fight, this was it.

He took a deep breath, settling down as best as he could. “Well.” How was he supposed to start this story? Elders always managed to make it look so easy, twisting tales easily and lyrically, but Finchpelt was stumped even before he said the first word.

“When did this happen?” Birdkit prompted, and Finchpelt nodded quickly.

“Before you were born. Far, far before. Mottlefang, Tinynight and I had only been warriors for a few moons, and she didn’t really like the senior warrior still treating her like an apprentice.”

“That won’t happen to me!” Waspkit said proudly. “I’ll be _such_ a good apprentice, they’ll graduate me way before anyone else!”

Birdkit hissed at him, pushing her brother. “Shh! Be quiet. Weren’t you ever taught to be quiet when someone’s telling a story?” Waspkit sent her a look, as if saying ‘ _look who’s talking’,_ but didn’t interrupt anymore.

Finchpelt cleared his throat. “Well, that moon, a few warriors had said they’d been smelling fox around the forest. Poppystar told everyone to stay away, saying it would move on eventually, but it began scaring the prey away, or stealing it for itself. Mottlefang didn’t really like not doing anything, so, one day, she snuck out of camp.”

Minnowkit’s eyes bugged, and he glanced at his siblings in disbelief. Birdkit and Waspkit weren’t too different, their bodies buzzing with excitement as they eagerly listened. They looked as if they ready to spring on an unsuspecting piece of prey – or on him. On Finchpelt, who they were staring at.

Did he say he was shy? Well, he meant it.

Finchpelt stuttered on his next words. He coughed, fidgeting with his paws, which were a lot sweatier than they were a second ago, and was half-way through thinking of some excuse about ending the story there, when—

“Oh, you’re telling _this_ story!”

The kits spun at the new voice. Lionwing padded towards them, grinning far too happily as Birdkit tumbled towards him.

“Lionwing! Do you know this story, too?”

“Know it? Birdkit, I can tell it _far_ better than Finchpelt.”

The kits beamed. Lionwing made it a habit to visit the nursery often, so much so that Birdkit was fairly confident that, if she wanted, she could attach herself to Lionwing like a leech and he wouldn’t mind. She was doing it now, all but sitting on his paws, staring up with wide and glistening eyes. Waspkit jumped forward too, unable to stay in place at the prospect of more stories, and even the bashful Minnowkit circled close by.

It was adorable. Truly, truly adorable.

Finchpelt wasn’t affected _at all_.

He sent the golden tom a thankful look, glad to be taken out of the spotlight, and Lionwing nodded as he settled by his side.

“So, where did you leave off?”

“I just explained that she left to hunt the fox.”

“Ooh, you left the good part to me. Alright,” he said, pulling Birdkit closer to him, smiling at her high-pitched giggle. “So Mottlefang leaves in the middle of the day without telling anyone, right? And we don’t really think about it much, all of us being busy warriors.

“But _then_ , Whitebelly brings back the evening patrol and guess who they bring?”

“Mottlefang!” Waspkit cries out, puffing his chest in pride.

“I knew that,” Birdkit mumbled, glaring at him, but Lionwing waved a paw at them before they continued.

“Hey, I’m in the middle of a story. Hold off on the fighting, will you? Yes, they do bring in Mottlefang – and she has this massive scratch along her back leg.”

“Is that where that scar comes from?” Minnowkit quietly asked.

Lionwing nodded. “Well spotted,” he said, and the kit brightened. “So she comes in with his big wound, and Lilyfall rushes her to her den. We’re all freaking out – understandably, I might add –, Tinynight throws a great big hissy fit and won’t leave her alone, when Foxclaw tells us what happened.

“His patrol had been making their rounds when they’d heard a fight in the distance. They ran fast, thinking the fox attacked someone, only to see _Mottlefang_ beating the fur out of the fox instead! She was already bleeding from her leg, and they jumped in to help chase it off, but Mottlefang was the reason it was limping as she left.”

“Woah!” The kits all sighed.

“I hope _I’m_ that brave one day,” Minnowkit said.

“Hey, you will be – it’s in the blood,” Lionwing assured him. “Ask Finchpelt what Mottlefang was like as a kit. Was she as brave and fearless then?”

“No.” Finchpelt snorted. “Once, she got scared by a piece of fresh-kill. Swore it was watching her,” he laughed, smiling as the kittens joined in. “To this day, she gets annoyed whenever we bring it up.”

“See? Not so different, Minnowkit. You have nothing to worry about.”

The grey cat seemed to settle with Lionwing’s gentle tone. He turned to his sister, but before he could say anything the she-kit threw herself down on top of him.

“I’m tired!” She yowled. “I wanna go sleep. Minnowkit, you’re my new bed now.”

Minnowkit grumbled. “Get off, Birdkit. You’re heavy!”

Without warning, Waspkit jumped on the both of them. The trio squealed, laughing loudly as they began to tumble and slide atop each other. Soon enough, their furs turned into a mix of vague covers, moving too quickly for Finchpelt to follow. They eventually tired each other out, falling asleep tucked against each other, and Finchpelt resisted the urge to coo.

“So, this is where you’ve been since we came back?” Lionwing asked. “I looked for you, but you weren’t at the warriors’ den.”

“Tinynight and I visited his sister, but then they started fighting again so I went out with the kits.”

Lionwing hummed. “I’m sure Mottlefang will get better. If there’s any cat who could fight off a sickness, it’s definitely her.”

Finchpelt smiled. “That is true. Thank you for the story, too.”

“Of course.” Lionwing pointed his ears at the kits. “Just wish I’d come sooner – now they’ll be napping all day.”

“Oh, yes, how terrible. Now you can’t annoy them.”

“I’ll have you know that kits _love_ me.”

They did. Finchpelt didn’t know why, but they did. And each time, he couldn’t help but stare at the image conjured up by Lionwing roll around with kits, kits infinitely smaller than him, small enough that they were in definite danger of being crushed of the massive cloud of luff that was Lionwing. It was just really _cute_ , okay?

He couldn’t help that it was _cute_ , could he?

Lionwing brought him back out of his head with the mention of his sister. “Aldernose has us on evening patrol. We’ll be with Blackears, so don’t hesitate to hold my paw if you need to.”

Finchpelt scowled, shoving him, but he wasn’t wrong. Not that he was going to _admit_ that. Blackears was a fairly intimidating cat – not just because he was the leader’s brother, their black and white coats similar enough that you could mistake one for the other at a distance. No, Blackears was intimidating on his own level.

The tom was always serious, never cracking a joke or smiling. Finchpelt could have sworn Blackears had never even _learned_ to smile. He wondered if the day would ever come, when he’d see Blackears actually _laugh_ and have _fun_ and not be more intimidating than he thought possible. If Finchpelt knew anything, that day would never come.

And if it did, he would eat his own words.

Finchpelt jutted his chin out. “Leave me alone.”

“You know he’s not actually as scary as you think he is. Right?”

“I’ve yet to see evidence of that.”

“Only because you close your eyes whenever he’s around.”

“I do not!” Finchpelt frowned. “You’re a terrible friend, Lionwing. Why do I hang out with you?”

“I’m irresistible?” the tom suggested, then shrugged. “I just got done helping Aldernose organise patrols. Mind if I take a nap?” he asked, and immediately lay his head down.

On Finchpelt. On Finchpelt’s shoulder. And nuzzled into him. Even _closer_. In his sleep. Because he was, apparently, now sleeping on Finchpelt’s shoulder. Like that was a totally normal thing to do and totally didn’t make Finchpelt’s heart start to face because _Lionwing was sleeping on his shoulder._

That, of course, just so happened to be the moment Tinynight came out from the nursery.

He rose a brow, and then smirked. Finchpelt ignored that look, too.

Behind Tinynight, Lilyfall followed. She nodded an absent goodbye to Tinynight, clearly distracted by something, and was already half-way to the medicine cat’s den before a high-pitched squeal grabbed her attention. She turned back, and Finchpelt followed her gaze to see Yellowkit trying his hardest to squirm out of his mother’s grasp to greet the grey she-cat.

Ravenheart cast him a tired look and sighed before letting Yellowkit out of her grasp. As soon as he was free, Yellowkit raced across the ground and all but crashed into Lilyfall. The cat purred, her laugher soft like silk as she leaned down to touch their noses together.

Yellowkit’s admiration for his sister was clear as he followed her every step, never taking his eyes away. He stumbled as Lilyfall led him back to their parents, grinning at something she said, quickly going off into a long spat in response.

As Yellowkit stopped beside his parents, a big blur of orange suddenly jumped at him. He squealed, his frightened cry soon turning into a purr of delight when he saw it was his elder brother who was attacking him. Foxclaw stood tall above Yellowkit, grinning smugly, telling him to get up again, fight me, I can take it! As the two got into a tussle, it was almost like watching two clones – they shared the same bright orange coat, their tabby markings the same shade of faint, and both of their eyes were alight with excitement as they played.

They looked close, like a tight-knit family. A family that so clearly valued and loved each other.

Finchpelt pushed the thought of nostalgia away, instead cuddling closer to Lionwing and turning to Tinynight.

“Meeting’s starting soon,” the tom said. “Lilyfall said she’s going to tell Poppystar everyone’s up by now.”

“Oh,” Finchpelt said, and if Lionwing wasn’t on his shoulder he’d move to comfort Tinynight. “You excited? Nervous? Scared?”

Tinynight’s face pinched. “I _will_ be if you keep saying that.”

“Right, got it, no mention of anything negative.” Finchpelt nodded. “Now that you’re not nervous or anything, could you get this lump off me?” he asked, gently poking a nose at Lionwing.

Tinynight smiled. “You don’t look like you’re complaining.”

“He is _very_ heavy.”

“You guys seemed pretty cosy this morning.”

Finchpelt blushed. “Watching cats as they sleep is creepy, Tinynight.”

The black cat shrugged. “He was snoring again. Everyone was staring at him.”

Finchpelt’s fur burned – did that mean they were staring at him too? – but before he could say anything, Poppystar stepped onto the Highledge that served as her den. Cats all across the camp gathered in the centre, already whispering amongst themselves, and Yellowkit all but flew to the front of the crowd.

Tinynight blew in a deep breath, and then nudged Lionwing. Roughly. Lionwing sprung up, grumbling loudly as he glared at the black cat. “What was that for?”

“Clan meeting,” Tinynight hissed back at him. “I wanted to wake you up before you started talking in your sleep again.”

“I don’t talk in my sleep.” Lionwing blinked, then glanced at Finchpelt. “I don’t do I?”

Finchpelt thought – should he be a good friend and tell the truth, or lie and keep privately enjoying all the hilarious nonsense Lionwing would say in his sleep? Well, that was fairly easy.

“Oh, good,” Lionwing sighed. “Otherwise, that’d be embarrassing.”

 _Yep_ , Finchpelt thought. _Real embarrassing_.

“Let everyone who is old enough to catch their own gather for a clan meeting,” Poppystar’s powerful voice rung throughout the clearing, and the trio were quick to pad over to the rock.

Aldernose and Lilyfall padded over to sit under the rock, leaving space in the middle for the apprentice and their mentor. The clan hushed as Poppystar looked down, searching amongst the faces until she saw Yellowkit. She smiled.

“Yellowkit,” Poppystar said, nodding slowly. “Step forward.”

Yellowkit, beside himself, stepped away from the crowd and into the space. For one second, it looked like Ravenheart would call him back, clearly nervous about a stray hair or a not-sharp-enough claw, but Yellowkit was already looking up at Poppysyar. He was trembling just a little, his tail whizzing from side to side as he waited for his leader’s words.

“Yellowkit, you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. Is it your wish to serve your clan with all of your strength?”

Yellowkit nodded hard. “Yes. It is.”

Poppystar smiled. “Then, from this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as _Yellowpaw_.”

The clan began to whisper again, and beside him, Tinynight stiffened. Finchpelt knew what was coming next – it was going to be the announcement of the mentor. He pressed their pelts together, trying to radiate comfort as much as he could, and felt Tinynight breathing tightly against his ear.

Poppystar looked away from Yellowpaw, surveying the clan. For one moment, her gaze stopped on Tinynight, and the black tom stopped breathing. Then, after a long blink, Poppystar looked away. Tinynight let out a breath. Finchpelt blinked. He could hear murmurs from his clanmates, wondering who was going to be chosen, and Lionwing let out a sympathetic sound as he ran his tail along Tinynight’s spine.

Finchpelt was so caught up in staring at his friend that he didn’t realise which cat was chosen until the whispers started up again. He looked up, narrowing his eyes as he tried to find who it was, and blinked in surprise when he saw Willowcloud stepping into the space.

Willowcloud, herself, looked terrified. Her eyes were wide, and her claws were digging into the dirt beneath her. She locked eyes with Yellowpaw, and the two seemed to share some unspeakable conversation.

“Willowcloud,” Poppystar said, and the clan went silent once more. “You may not have been expecting this, but I am confident I have made the right decision. Willowcloud, you have shown yourself to be clear-headed and loyal to your clan. These qualities are vital in an apprentice and I expect you to pass on all you know to Yellowpaw.”

She stepped back, nodding to the two cats to touch noses. Yellowpaw and Willowcloud turned to each other, hesitating before leaning forward to do so. As soon as they did, the clan began to roar.

“Yellowpaw! Yellowpaw! Yellowpaw!”

The newly named Yellowpaw bounced in place, his smile big and almost falling off his face. He looked nothing but proud, standing in front of his cheering clan, staring right back at them. He looked as if he was about to jump back to his parents, probably spout off about how excited he was, when two other cats crashed into him. It was the clan’s other apprentices, bigger and more muscled than Yellowpaw, but smiling just as much as him.

For a moment, it truly looked like Ravenheart was about to throw the pair off her kits, but Oakfoot managed to keep her away. They waited impatiently until the apprentices scurried off, then marched forward and circled Yellowpaw as if they were determined to never let him go again.

The rest of the clan, meanwhile, was gathering around Willowcloud. Both friends and senior warriors clustered close, yelling congratulations over each other.

Lionwing turned to Tinynight, and he and Finchpelt shared a look. Finchpelt motioned for him to go on, nudging him away when he hesitated. Lionwing paused for a moment, then shrugged, curling his tail around Finchpelt’s chest before he left.

Finchpelt would have flushed if he wasn’t staring at Tinynight so intently. The tom had to be nudged three times before he looked up, and even then he just responded with a, “hmm?”

“I asked if you were okay.”

“Oh. I’m. I’m okay. I _am_ ,” he added when Finchpelt looked doubtful. “Honestly. I’ll admit, I’m a little disappointed. I did like the idea of having an apprentice. But as I’ve said, I trust Poppystar. If she thinks I don’t suit Yellowkit- _paw_ ,” he corrected himself, sighing, “then I trust her judgement. Willowcloud seems kind. I’m sure Yellowpaw will appreciate having a kinder mentor than me.”

“Hey, you’re _plenty_ kind,” Finchpelt insisted. “I still think it should have been you.”

Tinynight shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t.” His eyes caught on something behind them, and Finchpelt followed his gaze to see Poppystar beckoning Tinynight over.

“That doesn’t look good,” Finchpelt voiced, and Tinynight sent a dark glare his way. The two traded a wary glance, but Tinynight told him to go on without him and left. Finchpelt watched for a few more seconds, but Poppystar didn’t look angry or upset, so he deemed it safe enough to leave.

Even though the crowd had thinned out, there were still a lot of cats gathered around Willowcloud, each waiting for their turn to speak to her. She seemed half-stressed, trying to divide her attention between all the cats that were vying for her attention, and the calico and tuxedo at her side.

It didn’t take long for Finchpelt to recognise who the pair was. They were the mentors of the current apprentices, Rabbitpaw and Snowpaw, and were probably trying to offer her some advice before she went off with her own apprentice for the first time.

“So, if you need any help,” Brindlesky, the pretty calico, was saying, “don’t hesitate to come to us. StarClan knows even _I_ still struggle with Rabbitpaw and his energy, and I’ve had my own kits!”

Beside her, the tuxedo cat nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, Snowpaw is a great cat, but all apprentices have their bad days. Don’t be discouraged by a grumpy apprentice, hmm?”

“Thanks, Whitebelly,” Willowcloud said, flushing lightly. She seemed unable to look him in his eyes, instead staring at her fidgeting paws. “Snowpaw keeps telling me how much you’ve helped her, how glad she is to have you as a mentor. I just hope I can live up to that.”

Brindlesky waved around a paw, shaking her head. “Nonsense! Stop getting so many high expectations in your head, kit. Whitebelly and I were just as nervous as you, once, and look at us now.”

Willowcloud smiled. “That is true. Still, I just feel so clueless.”

Brindlesky opened her mouth to say something else when she paused and seemed to only now realise the large herd around her. “Oh!” she said, laughing sheepishly. “Have we been hogging Willowcloud all this time? I’m sorry, we’ll come back later.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blackears said, and when did Blackears get to the front of the queue? Finchpelt automatically took a step back, but the tom didn’t seem to notice him, still focused on Willowcloud. “It’s probably a better use of her time, anyway.”

“We’ll come back when you’ve got the time,” Whitebelly said, nodding to the new mentor. “Enjoy the brief moments before training starts.”

Willowcloud laughed at the pair left, calling thank you after them, before turning back to the crowd. Blackears stepped forward and wished her luck, and Finchpelt _still_ couldn’t figure out if he actually had a personality. Maybe he just hid it really well? Maybe Finchpelt needed some sort of secret code to get permission to see it?

The line moved quicker now, and by the time Finchpelt stepped forward there were only a few cats behind him. Willowcloud’s face seemed to relax when she saw Finchpelt, and she let out a flustered laugh. “I really don’t like crowds.”

“I know,” Finchpelt agreed, trying his best to whisper. “You were doing pretty well, though, from what I could see.”

“Thanks.” Willowcloud let out a breath, and said, “so, was it just me, or did that come as a _complete_ shock? I heard Tinynight was supposed to be Yellowkit—I mean, Yellow _paw_ ’s mentor. Oh, he’s not angry at me, is he?”

“Oh, no, no,” Finchpelt said. “He was actually surprisingly understanding. I’m sure he’ll come around to say congratulations later.” Finchpelt blinked, suddenly realising he forgot his own, and quickly cried, “oh, uh, _congratulations_!”

Willowcloud laughed. “Thank you, Finchpelt. I really hope I teach Yellowpaw well.”

“I’m sure you will. And if you don’t – you’re pretty popular around here. I’m sure the other cats will be happy to help.”

The she-cat thanked him again, and then turned to a cat behind her. Finchpelt took the escape gladly, because he did _not_ like crowds, and located Lionwing bathing in the sun near the edge of camp.

“ _Phew_. That took a lot of energy out of me.”

Lionwing smirked, his eyes still closed. “What, talking to a clanmate?”

“Yes. Shut up.”

The tom rolled his eyes but shuffled so his head was leaning against Finchpelt’s belly. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, a soft purr tumbling out of his throat as he lay against Finchpelt. The tabby decided to join him, placing his chin on his paws.

Then, a shadow fell over him. To his side, Lionwing scrunched his nose, ducking his head further into the warmth that was Finchpelt, which was absolutely _adorable_ , but Finchpelt was too busy staring at Tinynight to pay him much attention.

“So? What did Poppystar say?”

Tinynight looked a lot relaxed than he had before, and he threw himself down beside his friend with ease.

“Well?” Finchpelt asked when he received no answers.

Tinynight sighed, laying his chin on his paws. “Poppystar explained why she didn’t choose me to mentor Yellowpaw.”

“And? Why was that?”

Tinynight looked up. He smiled. “She said she’s saving me for someone else.”

Finchpelt frowned. “Who?”

“Minnowkit.”

“Minnowkit? Why?”

Tinynight gave him a look, almost as if saying ‘no idea’, before thinking it over. “She said he’s really shy. Very shy. Doesn’t go outside like his siblings do, talks to other cats less, is just – quiet. In general. She said she’s worried that if he gets paired with a mentor he doesn’t know, he won’t reach his full potential because he’ll be too timid.”

“So she thinks you can bring that shyness out of him?”

“Maybe.” Tinynight shrugged. “As long as I don’t play favourites or let him get away with doing less work.”

Finchpelt snorted. “Like you’d let _anyone_ get away with laziness.”

“That’s true,” Tinynight hummed. Then he smirked. “Lionwing looks pretty comfortable, huh?”

“Oh, bite me!”

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:  
> \- I tried to keep these names similar to canon names, most of them ordinary/normal because I don't believe in names like "Diamondmountain" or whatever. No hate, though, just don't feature those in my fics.
> 
> \- This is a little bit alternative to the canon in terms of lore - e.g., I changed the words said in the apprentice ceremony as in the books the cats don't say "I do" unless they're an apprentice, but I thought it was nice so I added it to the warrior ceremony. I also want to expand on the stories of StarClan, how kits are raised, etc.
> 
> \- I intend this to be multi-chapter, and zooming from the POV of multiple character but if that doesn't happen then at least this exists. So whoop?
> 
> This is a rewrite of a story I originally wrote a few days ago, so if it looks familiar that's why. Don't hesitate to give feedback or point any mistakes - I LIVE on comments and kudos and you'll literally make my day if you do say something! <3


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